Chapter 114
Inpu stood as though balanced on a tightrope, his sword held firmly across his chest. Every step he took could be consequential. Every strike aimed his way carried the risk of being far more devastating than its wielder intended. The weight of misfortune pressed down on him, the world itself leaning in to see if he would falter. And still—he smiled.
Smiled at the crushing presence, at the misfortune he had willingly called onto himself.
Nezha, on the other hand, felt the opposite. His body surged with vitality, as though the heavens themselves had declared him their favored son. His aether flowed smoother, sharper, burning brighter with every breath. Techniques that should have drained him now cost him next to nothing, their strength magnified instead of diminished. His feet felt lighter, his movements quicker, the world conspiring to make him untouchable.
The flames of his spear burned hotter, wilder, almost joyous in their strength. For a moment, Nezha simply marveled—drunk on the feeling of being unstoppable.
It was that brief moment of awe that nearly cost him everything.
When he refocused, Inpu’s blade was already there—an inch from his eye, gleaming with fatal intent.
Nezha’s heart lurched. And yet, as though the world itself refused to see him bleed, instinct screamed louder than reason. His head tilted back at the last possible second, the sword slicing harmlessly past.
In the same instant, his leg whipped out, a ferocious kick aimed directly at Inpu’s head.
Inpu met the incoming strike without flinching. At this point, the blow could very well kill him outright, considering how utterly bereft of fortune he had become. But he treated it as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze.
He raised his sword to block—only for his wrist to twitch at the last second. The blade rotated just enough that the flat met Nezha’s shin, sparing him a wound. The impact thundered through Inpu’s body, sending him skidding back across the arena floor.
Chest heaving, sweat dripping beneath his mask, Inpu steadied himself against the invisible weight threatening to crush him.
Nezha, wide-eyed and still burning with unnatural strength, stared at him in awe.
“…Did you do this?” he asked, voice laced with both wonder and disbelief.
“Jejeje…” Inpu cackled like he’d gone mad. The sound, muffled through his mask, still carried a manic edge that made Nezha’s skin prickle. He couldn’t see Inpu’s face, but he didn’t need to. He was a hundred percent certain the man was grinning like a lunatic behind that mask.
And that unsettled him.
Why? Why would anyone deliberately make themselves unlucky?
Nezha couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly understand.
But Inpu had a reason for his madness.
Back when he was training under Auserre and Oceanna, he hadn’t sparred against ordinary recruits. He trained alongside God Sparks. Friends—four of them—each with the kind of potential that could one day place them at the very pinnacle of their Force alignments. One of them even shared his own: Balance Force.
Every day, Inpu watched as fortune wrapped itself around them like a second skin. Their luck wasn’t just good—it was unfathomable. He could barely touch it. At best, he could shift just enough fortune to make one of them mutter a casual “ow.” Beyond that, he was powerless.
And they knew it. They always held back for his sake. Without that restraint, his Force would have been useless against them.
But the truth left a sour taste in his mouth.
Because he knew the world wouldn’t hold back. There would be days he’d face opponents with overwhelming fortune—and they wouldn’t restrict themselves. They’d crush him. The scales wouldn’t even tilt.
So what was he to do?
The answer was simple.
Embrace it.
In this world, you either stayed weak, or you clawed for survival by any means necessary. So Inpu chose to forge a fighting style that turned the impossible into his training ground. A style born not from his friends’ help—but from their existence. They didn’t even realize it, but their overwhelming fortunes had forced him to adapt in ways no one else would dare.
He learned to fight not against men, but against the world itself.
What better way to hone his movements, his strikes, his timing, his awareness, his instincts—than to put himself in situations where the slightest mistake could mean death?
That was Inpu’s answer.
To fight against the world’s fortune itself.
During his training, Inpu embraced what most would consider madness—the idea of fighting while burdened with less fortune than his opponent.
To deliberately be more unlucky.
To deliberately press himself under the weight of a world tilted against him.
To accept that with every clash, his opponent’s strike could claim his life.
And to welcome that pressure.
It wasn’t simply about combat. It was about perspective—about forcing himself to confront the cruel truth of fortune head-on.
Because before all of this, Inpu had been nothing but a weak, starving kid. No training. No legacy. No mentor to shield him from the world. Survival had been his only skill, and even that was only because of his stubborn will to keep breathing. He had relied only on himself, with nothing but hunger gnawing at his ribs and the memory of what it felt like to be powerless.
So when Auserre and Oceanna’s training placed him among four God Sparks—four of the most terrifying prodigies he had ever seen—Inpu made a choice.
He would use their overwhelming fortunes as his crucible.
Every movement, every strike, every block, every parry that looked sloppy or unrefined to his friends’ eyes was deliberate. They thought he was clumsy, barely keeping up. But in truth, Inpu was stripping away his own fortune in those moments—adding pressure onto himself until even a basic spar felt like life and death.
Of course, Mia noticed. Her Balance Force let her sense the odd shifts in his fortune. But the girl was too innocent, too naive, to imagine he was doing it on purpose. Even if she had guessed, she wouldn’t have understood what it truly meant. So she said nothing.
And that silence allowed Inpu to continue sharpening himself in secret.
The pressure was suffocating. Every fight became a battlefield where he wasn’t only confronting his opponent’s strikes—he was confronting their fortune. The weight pressed so heavily against him that he was forced to make the smallest, most precise adjustments.
A breath half a second earlier.
A twitch of muscle to angle his parry.
A subtle twist in his foot to shift his stance.
The faintest shift in timing to intercept a strike he shouldn’t have been fast enough to meet.
He learned to treat the slightest change in wind, the faintest sound of cloth shifting, the tiniest shift in aether, or even the scent of blood in the air as signals. The constant danger heightened his awareness until he was almost moving before attacks were made. Precognition—not by gift, but by sheer necessity.
Day after day, session after session, he paid the price. He was always the most battered, the most bloodied, the one left bruised and broken on the ground while the others stood barely winded.
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And every single time, it was Kei Y who picked him back up. Kei Y’s healing was what allowed him to walk away from those sessions at all, keeping him patched together enough to step back into the ring the next day.
It was brutal. Exhausting. Thankless.
He didn’t have the ability like his friends to draw on the ambient aether to fuel his stamina. For him, every exchange came at a cost his body couldn’t afford. It meant he was always the first to grow exhausted, the first to collapse under the weight of training. But instead of breaking him, that disadvantage became another crucible to sharpen himself in.
And the results spoke for themselves.
Despite the bruises, the torn muscles, the endless nights of aching bones—despite being the one most often carried away on unsteady legs—Inpu improved faster than any of them. His growth wasn’t as flashy as Kei’s, nor as overwhelming as Mia’s, but it was undeniable. His swordsmanship honed itself into something that couldn’t be taught, only earned.
And then it happened.
A faint chime in the back of his mind. A spark that cut through the haze of pain.
[Passive Skill Acquired: Sword Mastery]
He’d done it. Not by chasing fortune. Not by riding the wave of overwhelming talent.
But by defying it.
And more—he hadn’t simply scraped into the threshold. He was already standing on the edge of Advanced Sword Mastery, his movements whispering of an expertise that belied his level.
To say his swordsmanship was at the level of an expert amongst his peers wasn’t arrogance—it was fact.
He had carved that mastery out of the jaws of misfortune itself.
And as he stood, battered and trembling, his chest screaming for air, Inpu couldn’t help but grin beneath his mask.
This was the proof of his struggle. The proof that his insane gamble had meaning.
Now, Nezha stood opposite this gamble.
The Chinese prodigy could feel the changes in himself. His circulation flowed smoother, his aether lighter, every movement sharper. His flames burned hotter and more ferocious, his body moving with an ease that felt almost divine—as if the very world had chosen to carry him forward.
It was intoxicating.
But across from him, Inpu’s actions made his stomach twist. The way he moved—reckless, deliberate, mad—left Nezha unsettled.
Why? Why would anyone willingly make themselves more unlucky?
He didn’t have time to think.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
A fire lotus bloomed instinctively around him, spinning with molten petals. Each strike of Inpu’s glowing blade crashed against the barrier, sparks and embers flying as the fiery shield rotated to meet the blows.
Nezha’s brows knit. His opponent’s strikes weren’t wild—they were precise despite his sprained ankle. Too precise. Each one aimed at seams in the lotus, searching for flaws that shouldn’t have existed.
Nezha wondered if perhaps it wasn’t madness driving Inpu—
but something far more dangerous.
And Nezha, for his part, was reveling in the surge of strength. Every step felt lighter, every swing of his spear swifter, every movement more fluid. His flames burned hotter, his body responded quicker—it was as though the heavens themselves had crowned him their chosen.
But in his exhilaration, he ignored the one fact Inpu had been counting on.
He wasn’t used to it yet.
And that was Inpu’s goal from the start.
Back during their training, Auserre had hammered a lesson into them over and over: true power comes from training, not from the system’s handouts. Stat points and system upgrades could grant instant strength, yes—but they also robbed you of the process of adapting to those changes. When you trained naturally, you could sense every shift in your body—how much faster you could move, how much harder you could strike, where the new limits of your stamina lay. That awareness was just as valuable as the raw numbers.
But when the system gifted you power instantly, that bridge was skipped. The strength was there, but the familiarity was not. You didn’t know your own body anymore. Reaction time slipped. Movements overextended. Strikes landed harder than intended—or fell short when you thought they wouldn’t.
That was what Kei Y had sensed from the beginning, and why—back in the Expanse—he had trained his friends this way naturally. It was the reason he forbade Lisa from using experience points to level up. It was why, even when Talia, Reese, Kai, and Owen had tried to restrain him from killing their former teammate Sam, they had struggled so much. Kei Y knew his body more instinctively than they knew theirs, dragging out every ounce of strength it could give.
Inpu had walked the same path as Auserre had made them, though his version had been forged through pain and madness. Every time he stripped away his fortune, he forced himself into situations where the slightest twitch could cost him his life. The struggle made him learn his body more intimately than anyone expected—drawing out its hidden potential in ways stat points alone could never give.
And now, at this stage, it showed.
No matter if circumstances pushed him down or lifted him up, he could adapt almost instantly. He still had a long way to grow, but here and now, he had become someone who could endure where others would break.
Nezha wasn’t there yet. Not even close.
His training hadn’t reached the point where he could anticipate changes and adjust instinctively. And now, even as his stats surged—speed, strength, dexterity all rising like he’d leapt several levels at once—he no longer understood his limits. His body was stronger, yes, but it wasn’t his own. Not yet.
And Inpu saw it.
Every strike, every feint, every step he took was designed to prey on that blind spot. He didn’t need to crush Nezha outright. He only needed him to misjudge himself—by the smallest fraction.
Because with the scales tipped so precariously, a single misstep would decide everything.
One slip, and Nezha would fall.
One mistake, and Inpu would die.
Choosing to rely on the fortune now brimming in his body, Nezha spun his spear in a blazing arc. Flames surged along its length, burning hotter and brighter than before, their heat licking across the arena floor. “I don’t know why you’d do something this insane,” he said with a grin, sweat dripping down his temple, “but I’ve got to thank you—for making this win easier.”
He swung his spear down in a roaring blaze.
Inpu didn’t so much as flinch. His sword sang as it scraped against the petals of the fiery lotus, deflecting each strike with precise economy of motion. Fire orbs launched from Nezha’s weapon, streaking across the air like falling meteors—but Inpu had been waiting for this.
The timing was off.
Nezha’s spear spun faster than he was accustomed to, his boosted dexterity throwing his rhythm into disarray. The release of the orbs came a heartbeat too early, their arc a fraction too wide. To the untrained eye, it looked flawless. But to Inpu, who had been carving awareness out of misfortune itself, it was as glaring as a beacon.
He seized the opening.
His blade cut through the seam of the lotus petals with a sharp hiss, slicing the fiery bloom apart. Nezha reacted instantly, stabbing his spear forward, flames screaming along its edge.
But Inpu was already moving. The instant the lotus fell apart, he sidestepped smoothly, letting the spear thrust pass close enough to singe his sleeve. His sword snaked upward, gleaming, angling straight for Nezha’s eye.
Luck saved him.
By pure fortune, the shaft of Nezha’s spear was already positioned just right for him to twist it into the path of Inpu’s blade. The weapons clashed—steel ringing against steel.
Inpu’s grin widened beneath his mask. He shifted mid‑strike, ignoring the pain as his body screamed in protest. The sudden change in direction wrenched his muscles violently, leaving him coughing blood, but he didn’t care. He brought his blade down in a brutal arc.
CLANG!
The force of the strike smashed through Nezha’s guard. The boy’s body was hurled downward like a comet, slamming into the arena floor with bone‑rattling force. Dust and heat billowed outward in the wake of the impact.
Nezha coughed hard, stunned, flames sputtering weakly across his spear. “He’s… really stronger somehow,” he muttered, dazed as he hooked his head upward, confusion clear in his eyes.
Inpu stood apart from Nezha, chest heaving, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The heat from Nezha’s flames still rolled off the arena floor, stifling, oppressive. His aether reserves were practically gone—barely enough for a few more breaths, let alone a prolonged exchange. His legs trembled, his ankle throbbed, and every muscle screamed for him to collapse.
Nezha saw it.
He didn’t gloat. He didn’t waste words. He simply slammed his spear into the ground.
Daoist runes flared to life beneath Inpu’s boots, spreading outward in a complex lattice of glowing symbols. Their sharp, intricate lines crackled with searing heat, ready to bind his body once and for all.
The crowd leaned forward, breath held. Anyone watching could see it: Inpu was about to lose.
And yet, no one jeered. No one mocked. From the stands, voices whispered admiration. He had already proven himself. Win or lose, his reckless, maddened style had carved its mark into the tournament. He had fought above his weight, and they knew it. Even Nezha knew it.
“…It really was a great fight,” Nezha said sincerely, the daoist rune nearing completion.
Inpu grinned beneath his mask, forcing ragged breaths through scorched lungs. “It really was.”
But his smile wasn’t the weary grin of a man proud of his effort.
It was the grin of someone who knew exactly what he had done.
Because at the final stroke of Nezha’s rune, the balance shifted.
Unseen to everyone but him, fortune snapped back into place. The overabundance Nezha had been reveling in—the unnatural surge of precision, speed, and power—vanished as suddenly as it came.
Nezha’s eyes widened as his rune faltered. His hand jerked, the once-fluid movements now clumsy, overextended. What had moments ago flowed with supernatural ease now demanded far more effort than his body could handle. The rune lines bled into one another, unstable, and collapsed into sparks.
“What—?” Nezha gasped. His body recoiled at the sudden mismatch between what his mind expected and what his body could deliver.
He never got to finish the thought.
Inpu was already there.
His body screamed in protest, his sprained ankle threatening to give out, but fortune was his again. He ignored the pain, launching forward with a fist that slammed straight into Nezha’s face.
CRACK!
The force sent Nezha rocketing across the arena, his body crashing past the boundary before he even registered the blow.
The system’s voice rang out instantly.
[System Notice: Match Concluded.]
[Victor: Inpu of Amunar Kingdom.]
The arena erupted into chaos and cheers.
Inpu let out a long, shaky breath, his mask hiding the exhausted grin on his face as he limped back to the waiting area. Every step felt heavier than the last. When he finally collapsed onto a bench, his chest still rising and falling like a bellows, Kei M was the first to break the silence.
“No matter how many times I see it,” Kei M chuckled, shaking his head, “that’s one crazy fighting style. Congratulations.”
Inpu let out a hoarse laugh. “Coming from the guy who swings round metal on a string?”
Kei M smiled. “Fair enough.”
Inpu leaned back, the roar of the crowd still echoing in his ears, every bruise and ache worth it. Because once again, the gamble had paid off.